


Lord of the Flings

by Fullmetalcarer



Series: The Adventures of Charles the Hobbit and Erik the Nazgûl(retd) [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Slut, Crack, Cracky, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fluff, Hobbits, M/M, Nazgûl | Ringwraiths, Various LOTR characters mentioned, Various X-Men characters mentioned, cracktastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Erik is an incompetent Nazgûl.Charles is a horny hobbit.Why are you looking at me like that?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Needed some light relief after "The Loss and Loveliness Linger". This is what happened.

Erik loomed over the cowering hobbit. The pathetic creature cringed and whimpered at his feet.

"You're going by the name of Underhill?" he hissed.

"Yes, no, I mean, what do you want with Underhill?"

"Fool, do you think to deceive me? Give me the ring!"

"Yes, yes, anything, just don't hurt me," quavered the hobbit.

He pulled a golden band from his finger and held it up to Erik in a trembling hand.

Erik snatched it from his grasp. At last, the One Ring! His master would be well pleased and would reward him greatly. He would sit at Sauron's right hand when he ruled over a world of darkness and pain. But why give it to Sauron? Why should not Erik wield the Ring? He could feel it calling to him, weaving promises of glory and power and dominion. He would be mighty beyond measure. He would rule with a fist of . . .

Hang on a minute, if this was the One Ring and the hobbit had been wearing it, why hadn't he been invisible? Erik held the ring up to the light, looking for the inscription that would be woken by the unnatural heat of his hand.

To Charles, from all his friends at "The Prancing Pony". It's not called a yard of ale for nothing!

He dropped it.

"Not this ring, the One Ring!" he thundered.

"That's the only ring I've got," stammered the hobbit.

Erik hauled the hobbit to his feet and ran his hands over and under his clothing. The hobbit looked slim, but had surprisingly strong shoulders and thighs. Erik found himself paying particular attention to the crotch area. Hmmm, not everything about the hobbit was short. No ring though. Erik slumped onto the grassy knoll beside his victim.

"Bollocks. That's three months spent tracking down the wrong frigging hobbit. You're really called Underhill, aren't you?"

"Er, yes, Charles Underhill-Xavier. I tend not to use the Xavier as hobbits are terrible at spelling and think it's a peculiar, foreign name. Twats. Dear me, I'm forgetting my manners, how do you do?"

The hobbit, Charles, held out his hand.

Erik shook it. "Erik of Lehnsherr, Ringwraith and Unhallowed Beast Rider."

Charles winced as he withdrew his hand.

"Oh, sorry about that. I burn with the fires of Mount Doom when I'm only semi-corporeal. Hang on a minute."

Erik concentrated and gradually his flesh solidified. The hobbit looked impressed.

"Goodness. I hadn't expected you to look like that. I thought you'd be much more decayed and shrivelled. You know, cobwebs in your eye sockets type of thing. Who'd have thought Ringwraiths were so attractive?"

Erik felt decidedly flattered.

"This is what I looked like when I was properly alive."

No need to tell Charles that he'd given himself a straighter jaw, auburn rather than ginger hair and had erased the crescent shaped scar above his upper lip.

"Well, I can see why Sauron wanted to recruit you," said Charles, with a distinctly flirtatious smile.

He was flirting wasn't he? Erik hadn't flirted with anyone for more than thousand years so he was a bit out of practice.

"He'll be sorry he recruited me when I report back with nothing," he muttered gloomily.

"Oh dear. I imagine he's rather difficult to work for?"

"Not really. Old Apoc, sorry, Sauron is alright, it's the others who'll take the piss."

"What did you call him?"

"Apoc. It's his nickname. It's short for Apocalypse, because that's what he's always trying to bring about."

Charles smiled. He had a very charming smile.

"What's he really like?"

"Like I said, he's not too bad. Bit short tempered."

"What does he look like?"

"Well, he used to be a bit of a looker back in the day, but now he's just an eye. Probably accounts for him being bad tempered."

"An eye?"

"Yes."

"Just one eye?"

Charles looked unimpressed. Erik felt the need to make an effort.

"He's a very big eye, though. Huge. The size of a house. A big house. And he has a giant, cat-like pupil and is ringed by fire. A lot of fire. Big flames. Shooting everywhere."

Charles still didn't look convinced.

"If he's only one eye, doesn't he have trouble with depth perception?"

"Yeah, but he has this glass lens to correct for it. Wouldn't wear it for ages. Said it made him look old. Trouble was, he can send out these waves of hopelessness and despair and he kept missing or, worse still, zapping our lot instead of the enemy. He'd be aiming for some elves, or men of Gondor, or dwarves of Moria and he'd get the orcs, or Haradrhim, or cave trolls. One time he zapped a Balrog. Gave it a terrible attack of existential angst. Went and sulked in Moria for centuries. Still there I think. Apoc sent flowers and chocolates and sacrificial victims and everything, but it wasn't having any."

Charles was staring at him with a very odd look on his face. His lovely, creamy skinned, freckle cheeked, blue eyed, cherry lipped face.

"Are you telling me that Sauron the Great, Dark Lord of Barad-dûr, Dread Ruler of Mordor wears a monocle?"

"Er, yes?"

The hobbit started laughing. His whole body shook. Tears streamed down his face. His cheeks flushed with red. Erik joined in. He couldn't help it. Charles' laughter was infectious (in a good way, not like the plague or a pestilence brewed in the deepest chambers of the Dark Tower).

When they'd calmed down, Charles gave him a quizzical look.

"You said something about some others who'd, er, take the piss?"

Erik frowned. "The other Nazgûl. Bastards. They're always making fun of me. Emma's the worst."

"One of the Nazgûl is a woman?"

"Oh, yes, several of the Ringwraiths are. Sauron's an equal opportunities employer. As long as you're evil, he doesn't care about gender, race, creed, colour or sexual orientation."

"Nice to know he's not all bad. I've always thought there's good in everyone."

He gave Erik another of those enticing smiles.

"That's a lovely thought Charles."

Charles blushed. Erik felt things stirring that hadn't stirred in a millennium.

"You haven't met Saruman, though. What an asshole. We've got a nickname for him in the ancient tongue of Angmar. Shu'awe."

Charles looked intrigued.

"What does that mean?"

"Wanker."

Charles burst out laughing again. Erik grinned.

"Even his own orcs don't like him. They call him Schmidt."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"It means: He Who Pleasures Himself More Often Than Is Socially Acceptable."

Charles shouted with laughter. By all the ancient and unholy spirits of Dim-sum, he was gorgeous.

"I haven't laughed this much in ages. It's so nice to talk to someone with a different perspective. Hobbits are so bloody boring."

"I thought you laughed and sang and danced and recited comic poetry all the live long day?"

"Ha!" He sounded bitter. "Oh, yes, it's fine if you find jokes about rudely shaped turnips hilarious and are happy to sing about beer and sausages for hours on end. The "dancing" is more like "drunken falling about". Don't even get me started on the comic poetry. I never ever want to hear another rhyme scheme that starts with buck, duck, luck or muck."

"Sounds dire," said Erik sympathetically.

"It is dire," said Charles, clutching Erik's arm.

Oh, Gods of Hellfire and Damnation, he was touching Erik's arm. He had no idea what to do. His usual option - chop off his assailant's hand - didn't seem appropriate. He tried to concentrate on what Charles was saying.

"I've tried to get people interested in other things - interpretive dance, nature poetry, the sciences - and I was having quite a lot of success with the young people; Sean, Alex, Armando, Hank and my sister, Raven. But the old folk didn't like it. They'd say: "That's not for the likes of us, you should know your place, don't meddle with things you don't understand, what use is it anyway, blah-di-bloody-blah." I'm sick and tired of the lot of 'em."

Erik tried his best to look like the sort of sensitive person who loved interpretive dance, which was difficult when you were garbed in robes of deepest midnight, helmed in steel and carrying enough weaponry to arm a small garrison.

"I'm sorry they don't appreciate you."

Charles smiled and patted, no stroked, Erik's mail clad arm. Erik felt a heat that had nothing to do with Mount Doom and everything to do with the much neglected Mount Magnus, as he liked to call it.

"And I'm sorry your fellow Ringwraiths aren't supportive. Talking of rings, you couldn't possibly show me yours, could you? I'd be absolutely fascinated to see a talisman of ancient, eldritch power."

He gave Erik's arm a squeeze.

Fuck.

"Idon'thavearing."

"Sorry?"

"I don't have a ring."

He could scarcely bring himself to look at Charles. He felt so ashamed. He dared a quick glance at him. His beautiful blue eyes were very wide and his lovely red mouth was slightly open. Erik immediately thought of something he could fill it with. Charles took both of Erik's hands in his and drew them into his lap.

"If you don't want to talk about it I quite understand," he said softly.

Erik did want to talk about it. He'd had centuries of being stoical and not talking about it.

"Apoc had the elves make ten rings for mortal men doomed to die. There was this big presentation ceremony in the inner chamber on Mount Doom. We all went up one by one to get our rings. Just as it was my turn to come forward, Shu'awe jogged Apocalypse's shoulder and he dropped my ring into the fiery magma that churned beneath the spur of rock on which we stood. I'm sure the bastard did it on purpose. He never liked me. Of course the ring melted and there I was, fucked."

Charles made a distressed noise and clasped his hands a little tighter.

"Couldn't he get another one made?"

"No. Everything had gone tits up with the elves by this point. Those pointy eared bastards had pissed right off in a huff."

"Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry."

His blue eyes shone with tears. Nobody had cried for Erik in an age, literally. They'd cried at him of course, usually because he was about to kill them.

"That's why the other Ringwraiths are always picking on me. Do you know what Emma said? She said I shouldn't be called a Nazgûl since I didn't have a ring. She said they should just call me a Gûl."

Charles bounced up and down with indignation.

"What a bitch!"

"Az said that since my kingdom had been an island, they should call me a Seagûl."

"The rotten sod!"

Erik sighed. "I'm used to it by now."

"I wish I could be there when they're bullying you. I'd give them what for."

Charles looked positively vicious. A bit like an angry kitten. The thought of him facing off with nine Nazgûl was hilarious, but the sentiment was rather touching.

Erik squeezed his fingers; gently so as not to break any bones.

"Thank you, Charles."

The hobbit suddenly let go of Erik and ducked down to pick something off the ground.

"I . . . I know it's not the same, but you can have my ring if you like?"

Erik felt a bit choked up and not because he was ripping someone's throat out with his teeth.

"Charles, that's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in one thousand, three hundred and forty seven years. I'd be honoured to accept your ring."

He held out his hand. Blushing furiously, Charles tried to slide it onto his forefinger. It was way too small. Charles tried his little finger. The ring fitted. It was a bit tight, but Erik wouldn't have said anything for all the world.

Charles smiled up at him. He smiled back, trying not to show too many teeth. Charles smile changed from sweet to sly.

"Does this mean we're engaged?"

"What?"

"Well, I've given you a ring. Doesn't that make us engaged?"

These were deep waters for Erik. He was very much out of his depth. He had no idea what to say or do next. Charles, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He put one hand on Erik's knee and the other on his thigh. Erik was shaken by a whole body shudder.

"You know what engaged people do, don't you, Erik?"

Apparently what engaged people did was; climb up on Erik's lap, shove a hand inside his tunic, tweak his nipple and kiss him passionately on the mouth. Erik hadn't done this sort of thing in a very long time, but he was damn well going to give it a bloody good go. He kissed Charles back, remembering NOT to suck the life essence from his small, warm, muscular body. He'd forgotten what somebody else's spit tasted like. It tasted like heaven. He tangled his fingers in Charles thick, silky hair. Charles got his legs round Erik's narrow waist and used those powerful thighs to grip like a vice. Erik moaned. Charles moaned too and ground his breeches clad cock against Erik's armoured crotch.

"Oh, fuck, I've got to get this armour off," growled Erik.

He concentrated and his armour and black robes discorporealised.

"Now that is a neat trick," said Charles.

He leant back to admire Erik's naked form. He looked Erik up and down. His gaze halted about half way.

"Don't tell me all men are that big?"

"They're not," Erik said smugly.

Charles grinned.

"Can you get me out of my clothes the same way?"

Erik snapped his fingers. Charles' clothes disappeared like mist and Erik could feast his eyes on his compactly muscular body. His nipples were as red as his mouth. His pubic hair was the same dark chestnut as the hair on his head and the back of his feet. His cock wasn't as big as Erik's, but it was disproportionately large given his height.

Charles wriggled forward, buttocks pressing into Erik's thighs. He rubbed his cock against Erik's. They both gasped. Erik spat in his hand and wrapped his fingers round their rapidly hardening cocks.

"Oh, Erik, your fingers, your lovely long fingers," groaned Charles.

Charles put his much smaller hand over Erik's and took control of the speed and length of Erik's strokes. He really knew what he was doing. They kissed some more, all tongues and teeth. Charles pulled away and gave Erik's nipples some attention. Because of the height difference, his mouth was on a level with them. He licked, kissed, sucked, nipped and bit. What with the nipple action and the cock stroking, Erik was on the point of coming when Charles stopped. Erik made a pathetic noise unworthy of a Nazgûl.

"I want you to come inside me," whispered Charles.

Erik's stared. That sounded like an unbelievably good idea to him.

"Are you sure? Won't the size difference be too much?"

Charles gave him an absolutely filthy smile.

"If I can take a fisting from the blacksmith's son, I can take your cock."

Erik wasn't jealous at all. His resolve to find and kill the blacksmith's son was entirely coincidental.

"What about something to ease the way?"

"I've got oil in my pack."

Erik used his eldritch powers to summon the pack to him - Charles looked suitably impressed - then scrabbled around ineffectually trying to find the oil - Charles looked amused and a bit impatient.

At last he found it.

"Oil me up, darling."

Charles lay back on Erik's long, lean thighs, hooked his forearms under his own thighs and pulled his legs up and back. His ass was possibly the most beautiful thing Erik had ever seen. His hole was a pink pucker just waiting to be penetrated. Erik oiled up his fingers and slid two into Charles, who moaned and trembled. He was so tight and hot, Erik had to take a moment to avoid going off like a rocket.

"Finger fuck me, you naughty Nazgûl."

Erik obliged. Charles shuddered and swore. Erik curled and scissored his fingers.

"More, you randy Ringwraith, I need more."

Erik got another finger in and then a fourth. They were both sweating - Erik had forgotten he could sweat - and Charles was scarlet from his cheeks to his, er, other cheeks. They were both rock hard.

"Want your cock in my One Ring," gasped Charles.

He sat up, dislodging Erik's fingers, pushed Erik onto his back and poised himself over Erik's cock, positioning the head with one hand. He slid down, so, so slowly. Erik grabbed Charles' hips and groaned like a centuries old embodiment of evil who hadn't gotten any for a very long time. He was buried up to the hilt in Charles' velvety heat. Charles gave a little wriggle. Erik whimpered.

"Move Charles, please, please, move."

Charles grinned, pushed himself up with those strong thighs, paused, then lowered himself down with agonising slowness. And he kept on doing it, gradually upping his pace until Erik was on the brink. Then he stopped. Erik would deny to his dying day - well, his disincarnating day, he was dead already - that he sobbed.

"Fuck me, Erik, fuck me with your mighty Tower."

Erik didn't need asking a second time. He took a firmer grasp of Charles hips and started thrusting up, fast and hard and desparate. Charles gave a little scream on every upstroke. Erik was close, he was so close, he was there. He came balls deep in Charles, who grabbed his own prick, tugged on it half a dozen times and spurted pale stripes across Erik's belly. Charles collapsed on top of him, a warm, sweaty, solid weight.

They lay like that for a while. Erik hadn't felt this good since he'd died. He petted Charles' hair. Charles made pleased noises. Eventually he disengaged from Erik, wincing slightly, pulled a shirt from his pack and wiped them both down. He settled back beside Erik and draped an arm across his chest.

"You're not going to kill me now, are you?"

He didn't sound like he thought that was a likely prospect.

"Of course not. I never kill people after I've had sex with them."

He'd killed a couple of people before he'd had sex with them. It had been entirely by accident. He'd been a newly raised wraith and hadn't really got the hang of it. He'd been having a nice snog with a dark power worshipping witch and found he'd drained her life force and she was a shrivelled husk. He'd still had sex with the husk. She was dead after all, it wasn't like she cared and he'd been desperate. He'd given it up after the same thing happened with a priest of the unholy cult of something-or-other. He'd been celibate after that. He decided not to mention this to Charles. He had a feeling necrophilia wasn't first date conversation material.

He looked down at Charles, nestling in the curve of his arm. Charles wasn't a shrivelled husk. Erik's control of his powers had improved exponentially. Charles was full of life and juice.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go back I suppose."

"To Barad-dûr?"

"No, the Morgul Vale. We've got a place there, Minas Morgul. It's shared accomodation. I hate it. When any of us are home it glows with this greenish-yellow corpse light. Makes it bloody impossible to sleep. I have to wear one of those mask things. And the smell! Emma insisted on planting these twisted, tormented, nightmare lilies all round the place. I warned her they'd stink but would she listen? "They'll look lovely Erik, don't be such a misery, we need some flowers to brighten up the place." I was right of course. Now we can't get rid of the things. As fast as we dig 'em up in one place they sprout in another."

Charles looked thoughtful.

"Do you have to go back?"

"No choice really. The rings bind us to Apoc."

Charles looked even more thoughtful.

"Yes, well, you don't actually have a ring, do you Erik?"

Erik stared at Charles. Fucking hell. He could have pissed off any time he'd liked and no one would have been any the wiser. He could have given up being a Nazgûl centuries ago. He felt very stupid and a bit upset.

"You could . . . you could come back to the Shire with me if you liked," said Charles in a shy voice.

Surely this was too much, too soon? Fuck it, he'd spent centuries doing a job he hated for a boss who was mediocre at best and with colleagues he loathed. He might never get a chance like this again.

"I'd love to, Charles. I'd be honoured to visit your home."

Charles smile was as bright as the flames of Mount Doom. He grabbed Erik and kissed him. Erik kissed back. Things soon got heated.

"Want to come inside your hobbit-hole again."

Charles laughed.

"I'm a touch too tender, darling, but I think you'll enjoy this just as much."

He wriggled down Erik's body and, oh, his mouth on Erik's cock! Erik watched, stunned, as Charles proved to be as expert with that hole as the other. Afterwards, they lay in other's arms, covered by Erik's cloak, which he'd recorporealised as it was getting chilly.

"You don't have to come back to Hobbiton."

Erik's heart stopped. At least it would have if it had been beating in the first place.

"They're becoming more accepting of same-sex couples, but a lot of people are still closeted. We could go somewhere else."

Erik's heart started beating again. Notionally.

"Bilbo has this dwarf who keeps visiting. Thorin Oakenshield. King of the Lonely Mountain. King of Bilbo's mountain if you ask me. Oh, they pretend he visits to reminisce about the old days, but I've seen the way they look at each other. Then there's Frodo and his gardener, Sam. That Rosie Puddleduck is a beard if ever I saw one. At least Merry and Pippin are open about it."

"You might be right. Perhaps we should go somewhere else. The whole of Middle Earth is poised to turn into a gigantic shit-storm anyway, so we'd be better off out of it."

Charles frowned. Erik smoothed the lines away with his finger. Charles smiled and kissed Erik's finger. One thing led to another and twenty minutes later Charles was cleaning them down with his shirt again. He'd have to bin that.

"Where shall we go?"

"I've always fancied the West," said Erik.

"What, overseas?"

"Yes. We could go down to that elvish port, can't remember the name of it, the one they're always sailing, sailing, sailing from, and take ship there."

"Sailing, sailing, sailing?"

"Yeah, elves are mad for sailing. What do you think?"

"Wouldn't the elves have a bit of a problem with you, what with you being a Nazgûl and all?"

Erik shook his head.

"They're big on redemption. If I show up all repentent, they'll fall for it like the idiots they are. You can claim to be related to the Ringbearer, that'd go down a storm."

"Actually I am related to the Baggins family. It's all hideously incestuous in the Shire. Right, that's decided, the West it is. How are we going to get to the port?"

Erik gestured at the huge black horse that had been cropping grass and waiting patiently while he and Charles fucked for three hours.

"Oh, he's lovely," crooned Charles and trotted over to pat Erik's horse on the flank. The massive animal whickered, rubbed his velvet nose over Charles' hand and tried to eat his hair. Charles giggled.

"What's his name?"

"Snowflake," said Erik, stoney faced.

Charles appeared to be trying very hard not to laugh,

"Snowflake? You have noticed he's pitch black, haven't you? And a terrifying warhorse rather than a little girl's pony?"

"Shut up you," grumbled Erik, swooping down on Charles and tickling him unmercifully.

Snowflake waited patiently as they had another round. He was a patient horse. He was actually a she, as they'd have known if either of them had had a clue about horses.

The West turned out to be rather lovely, despite all the bloody elves.

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually Erik told Charles about his tragic past. His lovely wife Marya? Maude? Mandy? And his beautiful daughter? Son? He had a vague idea there'd been a lot of children and, possibly, a lot of wives. It was a over a thousand years ago and all that corporealising and decorporealising played havoc with the memory. Charles was very sympathetic anyway.


End file.
